


always been

by nanifuku (orenji)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Falling In Love, M/M, Relationship Study, both of them are so fucked up i love it, oh btw shinji only makes a cameo to drive the plot along sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orenji/pseuds/nanifuku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And when Oikawa presses into him, soft and slow and gentle, murmurs of <em>"Hajime,"</em> on his lips, Iwaizumi kisses him and whispers <em>"Tooru,"</em> right back.</p><p>(From the moment they think they like each other to the moment they realize they love each other, and everything in between.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	always been

**Author's Note:**

> i've been having a slump and what better way to cure it than to write about two characters who you've seen interact in only like two episodes????
> 
> i mean i think i got them right but if not don't be afraid to lmk because this is essentially a character/relationship study and i want to LEARN 
> 
> ok enjoy!

It's after practice. Everybody has left and they're in the clubroom, shirtless and sweaty, Iwaizumi's back pressed up against the wall with Oikawa looming directly over him. Oikawa fixes him with a gaze so intense that it wracks his bones, sends a shiver down his spine. Iwaizumi exhales slowly through his mouth, shaky and unsure, watching as the gust of air ruffles Oikawa's bangs the slightest bit. 

“You're nervous,” Oikawa says, his tone not mocking, but calculating. 

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “You're reading me,” he says, his voice unintentionally coming out as a croaky whisper. 

“Maybe,” Oikawa says, leaning in until their noses bump. 

“I'm not a volleyball match,” Iwaizumi breathes, eyes glancing down towards Oikawa's lips. 

“You're not,” Oikawa agrees, pressing their foreheads together. 

Their lips are so close. Oikawa's lips are so red. Iwaizumi feels his mouth dry up so he swallows and then runs his tongue across his lips, catching Oikawa's eyes dart down to watch in the process. 

“I want to kiss you,” Oikawa murmurs, moving forward until their mouths are only a hairsbreadth apart.   

Iwaizumi doesn't dare to say anything in response, so he nods jerkily. Oikawa doesn't hesitate to delve in and the last thing Iwaizumi sees is Oikawa's eyes, predatory and brown, before their lips are pressed together and fucking —  _fireworks_.

Oikawa is kissing him and his hands are everywhere, on Iwazumi's hips, his waist, his chest, his ass, the small of his back. Oikawa smells like sweat and cologne and it should be gross but it's _Oikawa_ and somehow it's kind of hot.

Iwaizumi feels dizzy, weak in the knees and unstable when Oikawa prods his lips apart and licks sloppily into his mouth, and he realizes with a start that he's fucking forgotten how to breathe through his nose. Iwaizumi pulls away, a thin trail of saliva connecting their mouths, before it snaps to his own bottom lip. He licks it away and then throws his head back against the wall, breathing in and out, deep through his nose. He relaxes but it's short-lived, because then Oikawa's lips are on his neck and he's mouthing wetly at the column of his throat and Iwaizumi moans, threading his hands through Oikawa's hair just so he could do something, anything. 

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi rasps. “That feels weird.” 

Oikawa hums in response before he pulls away, looking directly into Iwaizumi's eyes again. Iwaizumi's heart jumps into his throat and his hands hesitantly leave Oikawa's hair before they come to rest at his sides, hands balling into fists. 

“What are you trying to do?” Iwaizumi asks, knuckles whitening. “Is this a game?”

Oikawa just stares on before he runs his thumb across Iwaizumi's lower lip. “Have you ever noticed that I'm bigger than you?” Oikawa asks, stopping his thumb at the corner of Iwaizumi's mouth. 

His heart stops. 

“That I'm stronger than you?” Oikawa lowers his voice to a murmur, gently pushing his thumb in between Iwaizumi's lips. 

Iwaizumi's pulse rocks in his ears and he doesn't move for a good few seconds before he lets Oikawa push fully into his mouth. The pad of Oikawa's thumb is salty and calloused against his tongue. It doesn't particularly taste or feel phenomenal, but Oikawa is looking at him, looking  _down_ at him with such a hungry gaze that it makes something warm and tingly coil into the depths of his stomach. 

Oikawa draws his thumb back and replaces the digit with his own lips. Iwaizumi's hands go to cup the back of Oikawa's neck, kissing back passionately, fiercely, deeply. Oikawa's hands travel down Iwaizumi's sides, grasping his hips, tugging him until their damp bodies are mashed together almost uncomfortably. 

“You're—” Iwaizumi pulls away. “You're fucking hard.”

Oikawa bonks their foreheads together. “I am.” 

“What are you pulling, you trashy fuck—”

“I want this,” Oikawa says resolutely, dragging his lips softly across the sharp cut of Iwaizumi's cheekbone. “I want you.” 

The rawness of his voice and the nature of his gestures and the arousal pressing into Iwaizumi's thigh is so uncharacteristically weird that it somehow just makes Iwaizumi believe him.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says lowly. “Okay.” 

 

* * *

 

Things change. Oikawa stares at him a lot more. Iwaizumi feels eyes burning into his back every day, whether it be in class or at practice or in the locker rooms. Sometimes his stares are predatory, sometimes his stares are casual. 

It makes him feel hot and bothered. 

It's not just the staring that there's more of, though. There's a lot more touching. A lot. 

In public, it's subtle. Casual shoulder bumps in class, hands brushing when the pass each other on the court. It shouldn't be a big deal, but everywhere Oikawa touches, it burns.

In private, he's everywhere. He corners Iwaizumi into the wall of the clubroom and kisses him silly. He grips Iwaizumi's hips and grinds upwards, swallowing all of his choked off moans and cries. He marks Iwaizumi's shoulders and collarbones, places where nobody can see. 

They haven't fucked, not yet, but Iwaizumi finds himself getting impatient. 

 

* * *

 

Oikawa backs Iwaizumi up against the clubroom wall and bends down to catch his lips in a short, deep kiss. Iwaizumi arches up into the kiss to prolong it, entangling his hands within Oikawa's hair, threading the sweaty locks within his fingers. Oikawa makes a surprised but pleased noise against his mouth before he trails his hands down Iwaizumi's back, stopping right before the swell of his butt.

“Someone's excited to see me,” Oikawa says when he pulls away, lips curving into a grin. 

“Take me home,” Iwaizumi blurts out before he can stop himself. 

Oikawa's eyes widen, his smile freezing in place before dropping off his face completely. “What?” he breathes out. 

“I—” Iwaizumi ducks his head. “If we're going to do this  _thing_ ,then we shoulddo it right and not in a gross sweaty closet.” 

“If I take you home,” Oikawa starts, swallowing loudly, “I won't be able to stop.” 

Iwaizumi nods, leaning up to press his lips against Oikawa's rapid pulse. 

“I know.” 

 

* * *

 

The first time they fuck, Oikawa is rough, uninhibited, wild. He fucks into Iwaizumi with careless abandon, gripping his hips and slamming into that one bundle of nerves with such intense precision that Iwaizumi is seeing stars.

He's done this before, Oikawa. Iwaizumi can tell, because while his own hands are shaky and cautious, Oikawa's are steady and knowing. It fills him with something he can't place, but he can't be bothered to think about it because Oikawa is shaking the bed frame and Iwaizumi's head is banging against the headboard.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi chokes out, clawing at Oikawa's back, digging his blunt fingernails into Oikawa's shoulder blades. 

“You're close,” Oikawa says, reading him again, and Iwaizumi just swallows and nods helplessly before throwing his head back with a loud groan when Oikawa's hand goes to grasp his cock. 

Oikawa jerks him slowly, teasingly, and Iwaizumi's toes curl at the sensation. 

“You look so good like this,” Oikawa pants, thumbing the slit, " _Hajime_." 

Iwaizumi comes so hard he blacks out.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi comes over to Oikawa’s house a lot more now. Sometimes to fuck, sometimes to hang out like they did before…this whole _thing_ started, whatever this _thing_ was.

“Call me Tooru,” Oikawa says out of the blue, pausing _Mario Kart_ and setting his controller down.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, raising a brow and setting down his controller down as well. “Why?” 

“I want to hear it,” Oikawa replies, shrugging. 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “No.” 

“Come on, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines, draping himself over Iwaizumi's shoulders. “Can’t you please?” he asks, licking the shell of Iwaizumi's ear, gently biting down on his cartilage.

Iwaizumi inhales sharply. “I thought we were just playing games today.” 

“We are,” Oikawa says, trailing his lips down to Iwaizumi's neck, sucking lightly at his jugular, his mouth scorching hot. Iwaizumi moans lowly, head dropping forward. 

“Oikawa—” 

“Tooru,” Oikawa corrects immediately, dancing his fingers across Iwaizumi's chest. 

Iwaizumi grits his teeth. “You're such a piece of trash,” he says in a hiss. 

“And what's this piece of trash's name?” Oikawa asks, moving his hand to cup Iwaizumi's cock through his jeans. 

Iwaizumi grunts loudly and pushes into his touch by reflex. 

“You're really hard,” Oikawa whispers into his ear, breath warm and damp against his skin. “If you call me Tooru, I'll take care of it. Suck you off, fuck you, whatever you want.” 

“I fucking hate you,” Iwaizumi rasps, fisting his hands into the scratchy carpet beneath him until his knuckles protrude out of his skin and turn a ghastly white. 

“Alright,” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi can fucking _hear_ the smug grin in his voice as he pulls his hand away and clambers off of Iwaizumi to return to his original spot.  

Iwaizumi waits a moment, tries to calm down by thinking about something gross, but ultimately groans in frustration when all he can think about is Oikawa and his touch and his body and his mouth and _fuck_. He hesitantly reaches out and grips Oikawa’s bicep, tugging him closer.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says lowly, keeping his eyes shielded by his hair, his face turning red. “Tooru, _please_.” 

“Good boy.” 

That's the last thing he hears before Oikawa's hands are pulling down his jeans. 

 

* * *

 

A week later, they’re fucking in the clubroom. It smells like sweat and dirty socks, but they couldn’t keep their hands off each other and didn’t feel like lengthening the wait by going home first.

The wooden floor is smooth underneath Iwaizumi’s back as Oikawa rocks into him, gentle and slow, unlike any other time before, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know why. Oikawa’s being careful, treating him lightly, thrusting in deeply but leisurely, as if they have all the time in the world.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi gasps when Oikawa brushes that small muscle that drives him wild. He cups the back of Oikawa's neck and tugs him down for a sloppy kiss, rolling his hips up to meet Oikawa's thrusts, to drive him into that spot again and again and again.

“Hajime,” Oikawa breathes just as easily back into his mouth.

 

* * *

 

It’s a Saturday and Oikawa’s invited Iwaizumi over.  It’s been relatively innocent so far as Oikawa hasn’t tried to pull anything, as far as sex is concerned. His touches are light and his jokes are breezy and it feels alright, it feels easy.

They're watching TV on Oikawa's couch when suddenly Iwaizumi hears a tentative, "Hajime?" 

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi asks, turning his head.

“Nothing,” Oikawa responds, smiling warmly. “Just wanted to say it.” 

“You say my name all the time,” Iwaizumi grumbles, lightly punching Oikawa's shoulder. 

Oikawa catches his hand easily and tugs Iwaizumi into his arms. Iwaizumi doesn't bother resisting, but rolls his eyes anyway when he falls into Oikawa's warm chest. Oikawa's heartbeat rings even and deep throughout Iwaizumi's ears and his fingers are long and heated when they run themselves through Iwaizumi's hair. 

“You're being—” _affectionate, cuddly, sweet_ “—weird today,” Iwaizumi says, settling on possibly the worst word.

Oikawa gets him, though (because he always gets him, because he’s capable of so much to the point it borders on being able to do _everything_ , because he can read Iwaizumi easier than he can a match) and only laughs lightly in response. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Is that bad?” 

Iwaizumi presses his lips to Oikawa's clothed collarbone. 

“It's fine.” 

 

* * *

 

“Good afternoon, Iwaizumi-san,” Watari says, smiling brightly. 

“Oh, Watari,” Iwaizumi says, turning around to see their black-haired libero. “What's up?” 

“Not much,” Watari replies, moving to sit down on the gym floor and spreading his legs to do warm-up stretches before practice. “I had like three tests today and I’m pretty sure I scrubbed all of them,” he says, expression turning moot. 

“That's shit,” Iwaizumi deadpans, crossing his arms. “You gotta pick up the slack if you want to stay on the team.” 

“Look at you, Iwa-chan!” 

Iwaizumi's eyebrow twitches. 

“You're being all motherly again,” Oikawa says, throwing his arm over Iwaizumi's shoulders. "A foul-mouthed one, though."

“I have to, or else all of you would die,” Iwaizumi replies venomously, turning his head to look at Oikawa with narrowed eyes. “Especially you, you ass. You have such a shit personality. You’d get jumped in a heartbeat if it weren’t for me.” 

“Gee, well, thanks, _Mom_.”

“Don't call me Mom, you shithead—”

“Um, Iwaizumi-san?” 

Iwaizumi snaps his mouth shut and turns to see Watari looking up at him, mid-stretch, with a muddled expression. 

“What is it, Watari? Do you need help stretching?” 

“Er, no, um...well,” Watari says, scratching his cheek, which has reddened considerably. Iwaizumi raises a brow in confusion.

“What is it?”

“Is that a hickey?” 

Iwaizumi immediately shoves Oikawa off of him and slaps his neck, flinching at the sudden sting. His cheeks burn furiously as he whirls around to shoot Oikawa an accusing look. 

“No,” Iwaizumi says, glaring at Oikawa’s amused expression, too embarrassed to look at Watari. “It is not a hickey. It’s nothing. I’m going to go to the clubroom. Keep stretching.”

He hastily speeds out of the gym, hearing Oikawa snicker behind him.

 

* * *

 

“You marked me, you piece of shit!” Iwaizumi yells into the silence of the clubroom, whacking Oikawa’s arm. “What if somebody else saw this? Someone smarter than Watari? Someone who could piece this whole thing together?”

Oikawa snorts, leaning back against the wall, one leg up for balance as he crosses his arms over his chest.  “Watari isn’t that stupid. He knew that was a hickey, didn’t he?”

“That’s not the _point_ ,” Iwaizumi growls. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“What’s the big deal?” Oikawa asks exasperatedly. “It’s just a hickey.”

“If people saw it, then—”

“What’s wrong with people seeing it?” Oikawa asks, uncrossing his arms and walking over to Iwaizumi. He stops right in front of him, looking down at him, analyzing him. There’s only a two-inch height difference between them, but somehow, Iwaizumi always feels small when Oikawa stares down at him, as if he knows everything Iwaizumi is thinking. It’s intimidating.

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi asks when he finds his voice. “We can’t have people knowing about this—”

“Why not?” Oikawa presses on.

“What the fuck are you babbling on about?” Iwaizumi asks angrily, hands balling into fists by his sides. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Oikawa asks, reaching up to thumb over the purpling mark. Iwaizumi shivers, the patch of skin there sensitive, Oikawa’s touch burning hot. “I want people to know that you’re mine.”

“Since when did I become yours?” Iwaizumi asks, closing his eyes when Oikawa presses their foreheads together.

“Haven’t you always been?” Oikawa whispers, trailing his hand down Iwaizumi’s side. He stops when he finds one of Iwaizumi’s fists, balled up with previous anger, and then slowly uncurls it. Iwaizumi sighs but doesn’t fight him, not even when he intertwines their fingers together.

“You really do,” Iwaizumi says, a mild frown on his face, “have a shit personality.”

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa says quietly.

Iwaizumi nods his head.

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you happy?” Oikawa asks on a Sunday morning after Iwaizumi’s slept over.

Iwaizumi blinks blearily, raising his head from his pillow to make out the image of a blurry Oikawa. He’s looking up at the ceiling, hair ruffled and messy, teeth biting down into his lip, expression incredibly serious as his bare chest rises up and falls down evenly.

“Am I happy?” Iwaizumi repeats, raising a hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He turns onto his side so that he could look at Oikawa more clearly, so that he could observe his face upon closer inspection.

His eyebrows are furrowed; his lips are so red from his teeth gnawing on them so violently. Iwaizumi reaches out and thumbs Oikawa’s bottom lip, gently, carefully, until Oikawa closes his mouth and retreats his teeth. Iwaizumi leans over and slots their mouths together in a sweet kiss, a kiss so out of character for him, for them, for _this_ , but it happens anyway and neither of them complains. When Iwaizumi pulls away, Oikawa’s eyes flutter open, brown and big and surprised.  

“So you are?” Oikawa asks, voice small, but hopeful, lips on the verge of curving into a smile.

It’s in his nature to reply to a question like that with a biting insult, but it occurs to him right then that Oikawa has lost his ability to read him, that Oikawa is just as confused and muddled as he is, that Oikawa is still a teenage boy who doesn't know everything, that Oikawa is flawed.

Warm tingles build up in the pits of his stomach and spreads throughout his chest at this revelation. He only hesitates for a moment before he finds himself reaching out to brush Oikawa’s bangs out of his face with such tender affection that Oikawa’s surprise from earlier builds up tenfold on his face, lips parting, brows raising.

“I’ve always been.”

 

* * *

 

Things change again. They argue a lot less, they kiss a lot more, they make love.

They're not ready to say it, not yet, but now, every time Oikawa presses into him, soft and slow and gentle, murmurs of _, “Hajime,”_  on his lips, Iwaizumi kisses him and whispers,  _“Tooru,”_ right back.

And they just  _know_.  

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
